Whatsername
by silverNsirius4ever
Summary: A songfic to the song Whatsername by Green Day. Harry remembers people and feelings that he had forgotten years before.
1. Prologue

Whatsername

Prologue

It was so long ago to him, too long ago. Voldemort had been on the ground, weak. He had only a seventh of soul left. That seventh was inside him.

They were in a very dark room and Harry had him pinned to the ground, unconscious. Voldemort's wand was in Harry's hand ready to kill its owner.

Harry glared at this creature in such a way that might have killed any man with a heart. Voldemort was neither human nor did he have a heart. Without useless monologue, Harry pointed Voldemort's own wand at the place where his heart should've been. The hatred he had for the creature was enough to kill a man, and when released from a wand, would certainly kill Voldemort. The loathing Harry had for it was unspeakable. So many people he cared about were dead, and he turned the love he had for them into love for the thought of killing Lord Voldemort, and Harry had a lot of love.

"Avada Kedav –" he said, but was stopped. A hand covered his mouth firmly and a pair of strong arms seized him. He struggled and writhed in the arms of this person until he was in pain but he was not released.

"Stupefy," said a deep voice calmly. Harry shut his eyes tight, expecting to be frozen in place, but then realized the spell was aimed at Voldemort. Harry was angry at the man who held him. It was his right, to kill Voldemort. He screamed and struggled harder against the arms, which carried him for a few minutes until he was put down on a soft surface, then a blindfold was put over his emerald green eyes, and tied him down in place so tightly that he could not move… like in the graveyard. There was a few seconds of utter silence before Harry felt a hand on his forehead and smelled a flowery scent. A finger traced his scar then the hand moved down to his cheek. He heard a soft female voice whispering in his ear.

"I'm sorry Harry," he felt the warmth of the body move away from him, and then come closer again.

"I love you." It was barely a whisper.

He felt lips upon his and a teardrop fall onto his face and knew who it was instantly. Then he felt the tip of a wand against his scar and heard a cry that sounded rather choked echo into the room.

"Obliviate!"

The pain started in his scar, then moved deeper until his whole brain was searing with unbearable pain. It seemed to last an hour, even though it only lasted a few seconds. Then he blacked out completely into a dreamless unconscious state.


	2. The Picture

Whatsername

Chapter One

The Picture

Thought I ran into you down on the street  
Then it turned out to only be a dream  
I made a point to burn all of the photographs  
She went away and then I took a different path  
I remember the face  
But I can't recall the name  
Now I wonder how Whatsername has been

It had been eight years since the memory charm, but it seemed like many more to Harry. That was because he completely lost his memory that day. He had woken up three days after in the long term ward in St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries with an anxious healer looming over him. He didn't remember a thing, including all of the schooling he'd gotten in many years. He had woken up with the intelligence and maturity of a five year old and it he had been seventeen.

Now he was twenty five, and though he was still recovering. He was basically going through a second school, but being taught by special tutors. He had gotten his wand when his intelligence had reached that of an eleven year old: two years ago. But his maturity developed twice as fast as his intelligence, probably as the effect of a memory charm. He pretty much acted his age, give or take a couple of years.

Harry had recently taken to drawing pictures, mainly of the people he saw every day. It was nearly eight in the morning on a Saturday and he was sitting with his pencil and colored pencils drawing. The healer, Madam Almeise stepped into the room.

"Good morning Harry!" she said in a singsong voice. She still treated him like a nine year old. "What are you drawing today, sweetie?"

"Hold on," he said, "I'm almost finished… there!" He moved aside to let her see.

"Who is she?" said Madam Almeise. Harry tilted his head and looked at the picture thoughtfully.

"I don't know," he said, "She's pretty though."

"Yes she is," said Madam Almeise in her annoying singsong voice, but at the same time she was jotting down something in Harry's memory record notebook. She was told that drawings could reflect a memory comeback. "Well, be good Harry, I'm going to eat breakfast!"

"Fine," He looked down at the picture and had a peculiar thought. After he lost his memory he had been told that he hit his head while running from a fire that burned his house down. They gave him some "remains" consisting of a sneakoscope and a few burned photographs, but he had never really looked at these. He kept these in one of the many boxes under his bed. He looked down under his bed and began to search. Finally he found them. He looked through the pictures one by one.

There was one of a younger version of him and a bony blonde woman with a long neck, a few of himself Ron Weasly and Hermione Granger, who had visited him at the hospital for a few years before falling out of touch, one of a woman with long red hair in a wedding dress and two men with black hair, one who looked almost exactly like Harry and one who Harry didn't recognize, but who was laughing. Then he saw the last one in the pile and gaped. She looked exactly like the girl in his drawing. She had long red hair like the woman in the previous picture, but hers was less orangey, and her eyes were dark blue, rather than green. She was very freckly and was smiling sincerely. He knew that girl form somewhere.

But who was she? What was her name? Harry strained his poor memory.

_Annie… no… Ally? Nuh-uh, um, Jenny? No, that's not it either…_

After a while he gave up on the name but the face of the girl just kept floating into his head. He remembered a dream he once had, but only one part, a flowery smell, a hand on his face, and something poking his forehead. It was a bit random, but somehow he knew it was connected with the red haired girl. He spent the rest of the day wondering about the pretty girl with the red hair.


End file.
